


Cetus

by Ilovehighhats



Series: Constellations [7]
Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Batman - All Media Types, Dark Knight Rises - Fandom
Genre: Gen, Hallucinations, Injury Recovery, Medical Trauma, Sailing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-28
Updated: 2017-10-28
Packaged: 2019-01-25 12:19:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12531208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ilovehighhats/pseuds/Ilovehighhats
Summary: Cetus - a sea monster, fearsome creature from the furthest depths of the oceans. One was slain by Perseus to save Andromeda; yet another by Heracles in similar circumstance. Greedy bastards, those sea creatures, all apparently thirsting for the blood of women. Or companionship.Whichever it is, they do seem to be quite lonely…





	Cetus

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to wonderful ThreeDots, who relentlessly pushes me to write. Would you believe that this little piece was waiting to be published since the first chapter of Sculptor? Phew, that took me a while...

oOo

 

Pain. White, searing in its intensity, unforgiving and insistent. He was a supernova; expanding, ready to implode to a red dwarf. Or morph into oblivion of a black hole.

With titanic effort he made himself focus on the external. There was a stimulus he should be registering. What was it?

As if from underwater it emerged, the familiar voice muffled behind slosh of blood in his ears.

“...So tired of your shit. You drive everyone away, and still here we are, fucking clinging to every tiny shred of life we both can. What was all that for anyway? You should have turned your back on that bitch and left with Helena a long time ago. You'd have few kids by now and peace. A white fucking fence house in the suburbs. But no. No. You had to keep pushing the odds, you had to try and change the fate of someone who was long gone from your life. I bet you don't even realize you sacrificed your future for your past. And it bit you in your dumb ass.”

“I… Know…,” he managed to say.

The voice was gone, but now there were hands around him, moistening his parched lips with a cold splash of water, poking and prodding.

“Do you know where you are?”

“No.”

“Your name?”

“...Which one?”

An amused, relieved chuckle.

“Choose the one that you'll be using from now on,” another friendly voice chimed in, the one from before.

“Tony.“

“...Okay.”

The surprise was understandable. He didn’t share this alias with anyone, even with Talia.

“We're going out of Gotham. Should be somewhere close to the trawler. Trogg is waiting there, we'll get you on the yacht, and then to the hideout in Bermuda.“

“What day is it?”

“The day you said ‘fuck you’ straight into the face of death. Again.”

Bane would smile if muscles in his face could cooperate to form a grimace. A day like any other, then.

“Rest now.”

  


oOo

  


Light. So much light he frowned and squished his eyelids together, trying his hardest to block it from piercing his retinas. Awareness of his laboured breathing registered in the same moment he recognized the edges of a mask on his face. Not his metal monstrosity, but a regular clear plastic, a medical one.

Drawing breaths was painful, but what did he have left if not his endurance. Slowly, his mind picked up on more information. Pulsating heat over his ribs, tightness suggesting cracked bones underneath. Some fabric stretching over his arms, shoulders and torso, elastic and slick, masking strain of skin there.

Idly, he let his mind wander. What was his last memory? An ally ranting somewhere dark and cold. Why did he let them babble away? And before that?

Nothing.

He wanted to have a computer at his hands, needed to see what Helena was doing. What would she be up to today?

What was the date again?

Sighing, he cracked his eyes open. Well, the light wasn't as bad this time. Blinking slowly he tried to focus on anything. White ceiling, shaded slightly, but brightened with shifting pools of light. A window to the right, floor to ceiling panel of glass. Open, letting in a warm breeze, muslin curtains dancing in the wind. Intensely blue sky beyond, lush greenery shielding way to nearby vividly teal sea.

Bermuda?

With some effort he turned his head to the left. The skin pulled, but as always he swallowed the discomfort, intent on acquiring more knowledge of his whereabouts.

Just in time that he did. The doors that were on that side of the room opened. Bane knew the name and occupation of the woman who entered, but couldn't fathom why she was here.

She stepped closer to his bed, pausing to glance at machines whirring softly on his bedside.

“You should be sleeping still,” she said. From pocket of a green dress, flowing and summery, she produced a vial. There was a syringe in some drawer by the machines, and she used it to administer contents of the vial into the tube connected to Bane’s left forearm.

He watched as green liquid travelled down the plastic, finally reaching his body.

“Why are you here, Dr Isley?” He asked, groggy and content.

The pain dulled to a level he could more than live with. Very tolerable.

“Rest.”

He smiled at the clicking sound of heels on wooden floor. He had some very fond memories of an evening spent while being circled by a woman in stilettos. There was a token he snatched from her then, hidden with his other treasures, a strip of red lace reminding him of all that his greedy nature craved.

He was still smiling, falling into the comfort of sleep.

  


oOo

  


The evening was balmy and pleasant, and he felt no pain. His vision swam, shadows morphing in pale moonlight into ghosts of his past. The priest, looking at him over the rim of a book, glasses shattered endless times and haphazardly put together one time too many, hanging low on his aquiline nose. Talia, as she was so long ago, fresh from exercise, almost grown but still clinging to him for advice and support. Beautiful and deadly, but still innocent in her honesty towards him. Ducard, watching him silently from the shadows. Judging, always judging. Always finding flaws when there were none. Forging weaknesses from the smallest chips in Bane's armour, scraping for purchase to discredit him, to show how incompetent he thought Bane truly was… The Demon Head never dared to challenge him out in the open, not after he completed his training. Not after he became the symbol that he was, the beacon for all amongst their ranks who thought themselves inferior.

He was a nobody, and that gave him strength.

Faces came and went, blending with the shadows like smoke, veiled with blur of intoxication, morphing from men to women, from friends to foes, an ever changing parade of information he didn't want.

Bane never turned his eyes away. Not when he looked once again into the furious eyes of his first kill, a man so low he wanted to rape a child. Not when he looked into the eyes of Talia's mother, scared and resigned, so clear when she was whisked away from before him. Not even when he saw an inanimate object come to life, climbing his bed to sit at his feet, staring. The plush was worn out and tattered, letting some of the filling out. One arm and eye were missing entirely, but the brown bear didn't seem to mind, staring resolutely at Bane.

Of course he wouldn't mind, he wasn't real.

“Why are you here, old friend?”

“I’m wondering about it myself.”

The voice was Barsad’s, but that didn’t surprise Bane any more than Osito talking to him in the first place. Only natural for him to have attributes of his most loyal companion.

“I’m so tired.”

“I am as well,” Bane admitted. “But we will endure.”

“What for? The better world we thought we’re going to build? It’s not here. And we weren’t able to cut a piece of happiness for ourselves with the life we were leading up until now anyway.”

“You are correct. What do you propose?”

“Let us die and be reborn.”

Bane chuckled. The easiest way out, it seemed.

“I will fade into shadows. Your path is more dangerous than mine, so I will leave you to your own contemplations. In time perhaps we will meet again. In a better setting, somewhere where neither of us would have to wear a mask.”

Through a haze of chemical smell of drugs, Bane managed to grasp a thought passing behind his eyes with a murmur of butterfly wings. If a teddy bear wore a mask, what was lying beneath?

“I would like that,” he concluded eventually.

His eyes dropped to the silvery fabric coating his arms and torso.

Fish scales? He must be dreaming that up too, he thought idly with a hint of amusement. So he was turning into a monster from the seas now. How oddly fitting it seemed.

“Good for you.” The voice trailed around him, followed by soft click and never ending rustle of the curtains. Like murmur of the water. The sea was so close, he wanted to stroll over and immerse himself in the warmth of it again. Like a true creature of the deep, longing to return home.

What was home now, anyway?

When he raised his head back up, the visions were gone.

  


oOo

  


Next time when he awoke, he remembered.

There was a hitch in Gotham. A thousand mistakes and missteps, all cascading together into a torrent of failure. Talia wanted them all there, to lead them into fiery death. A queen, sacrificing herself for the greater good; and all her subjects, whether they shared her views or not.

He remembered a brawl before the city hall. Policemen marching proudly to face the oppressive force of the league of shadows.  A fight with Wayne. He lost it, somehow. Talia delivering her speech and then the trouble with the trigger. The signal was jammed, so she ran to amend it. He was supposed to kill Batman, he had a gun in his hand, ready, pointing… What happened then?

Darkness.

There were plenty of leads to draw some conclusions. He remembered being transported out of Gotham. The vessel was far from comfortable. Hence, a failure of their plan was most probable. Still, he was delivered here, to one of their hideouts, safe under one of Talia's aliases. So, the organization still worked.

But why was Dr Isley here? What happened to Talia? Where was Barsad, and for that matter all of his people as well?

What happened in Gotham?

“You're agitated.“

Dr Isley was standing beside his bed. Why didn't he hear her enter?

“What day is it?”

“February sixteenth, two thousand seventeen.”

“What?!”

Over a month. He had been unconscious for five weeks. How did that happen?

“I want answers,” he hissed.

She watched him seethe, impassive and beautiful, inhumanly detached.

“You need to get your bearings first.”

“If you try to put me under once again, I will kill you.”

The threat wasn't idle. He grasped her neck, easily bending her body towards him, circling his fingers until they were only five centimetres apart. He could squeeze them until they met, even in his weakened state. She would have no way of preventing him, of freeing herself from his grasp.

Red hair spilled down, cool and silky over his heated flesh, clinging to rough wrappings over his arm, caressing his wrist. Under his palm he felt her throat work down a gulp. For the first time her facade cracked before him, as she twisted her lips in an enticing smile. Cold, but as genuine as it could be.

“I won't conduct a conversation in this position.”

One last measuring glare and he let her go. After all, he was at her mercy, in every way.

“I won't tell you exactly what happened in Gotham, your men can fill you in on that. The basics though are this: your operation failed. Batman sacrificed himself to detonate the bomb over the bay. Talia died.“

Bane let out a sigh. Involuntarily, his eyes closed. It didn't prevent tears from spilling down his cheeks.

“You have been transported here in eighteen hours. Extensive burns, impact trauma. Broken bones. They said you've been hit by a grenade or something like that, that you should have been ripped open.” She snorted, obviously dissatisfied with quality of assessment made by someone else. “My Venom kept you together, and that impressive build of yours, and a vest, they said you had something protecting the vitals. Anyway, you've been brought here, to the Bahama hideout, and I took care of your convalescence.“

“Why?”

“Miranda asked for it, in case something happened to her.”

There was a thread of sorrow in the admission.  

Bane slid down to the pillows. Of course, now it all made sense.

“You killed Porter because his Venom was ineffective.“

“And he was tinkering with it further in a suspicious direction. Why didn't she tell you?”

“Because she would expose her cards, and that was too much.”

“I also made some progress in her medication.” Startled gasp from Bane made her look at him with a frown. “You didn't know.”

“That she was taking something? I knew there was a thing, but she never shared in on her issues,” he whispered bitterly.

“She wanted to.”

“What else did she confide in you?“ He couldn't shake the resentment out of his tone. Why would he? Talia ignored his offers of help, of companionship, relying instead on this stranger. Not on a man who brought her up, who sacrificed himself over and over again. Who gave her the best years of his life…

Pamela’s harmonious voice cut through his angry inner tirade.

“She hated your devotion. Always wanted to be an equal, but you protected her when she wanted to take risks, guided when she didn't need guidance. She wanted to walk with you, but you left her only the spot behind. That's why she kept you in the dark, to maintain her advantage.“

“Like she did with her father.”

“You both throttled her.”

“She never understood how dangerous she was to herself. I had to protect her!”

“But she outsmarted you anyway.” The woman’s voice grew softer. “I had hopes for her as well. I thought we could work together to better the world. To clean poisoned waters, to filter out soured air.”

“And you never saw she would salt the earth under her enemies, even if it meant it would leave her without sustenance. Provided she won, she would do anything.”

“No, you’re mistaken about her. You still can’t see her reasoning, don’t want to understand her point.”

“De mortuis nil nisi bonum dicendum est,”* he whispered.

She stared at him, without pity and without understanding.

“Leave,” he ordered.

  


oOo

  


Another visitor came to Bane’s room soon after his argument with Dr Isley.

Civilian clothing suited James well, bringing out the perfect symmetry of his features, accentuating the velvety smoothness of his dark skin. He looked like an affluent retiree, still in his prime but well past caring about inconsequential details of daily life.

“Report,” Bane ordered instead of greeting.

Brief pause to collect a chair was all he had to prepare for detailed description of his failure.

James’s voice was steady and calm as he recollected the events from the brawl before the City Hall. Barsad was shot by the Police Commissioner, left to die on the street. Foley himself killed by Talia's tumbler. Someone saw Selina Kyle riding up the stairs of the Hall on Batman’s futuristic bike, then the rocket propelled missile was launched and from the rubble emerged only her and Wayne. Talia crashed with her truck trying to reach the bomb. The mercenaries who managed to escape the brawl with the police, a third of the number that started the fight, dispersed around various hideouts around the city.

According to procedures, they laid low, prolonging time for regrouping in favour of maintaining as many assets as possible. Also, their leader was presumed dead. But four weeks were the most they could go without reporting in, and Bane himself stretched that boundary already.

James escorted Bane through one of many tunnels under the city, transferring him onto a trawler and then on a yacht bound for Bermuda. He was treated nearly immediately, Trogg’s state of the art technology paired with Dr Isley's innate and uncanny grasp over workings of Bane's body and superior manipulation of chemistry making his convalescence miraculously short. He was patched up with fish skin, laser beams, copious amounts of Venom and his own steely resolve not to die.

But now that he listened to word after word of a tale that conveyed his failure, he found himself sinking into an abyss of pain. His little girl was killed by her own ambition, and he didn’t even manage to realize her wish of destroying Gotham. Instead he was left alone, with the bitter taste of defeat in his mouth.     

“Boss?”

James looked at him with a hint of concern in his eyes. The same look he had on that drab day when he came to the gallery overlooking Helena’s operation.

“I’m listening.”

“I wasn’t speaking for a while now. I’ll leave you to rest.” He got up, chair legs scraping slightly on wooden floor.

“Did you notice how blue the water here is?” Bane murmured. He remembered an evening when he brushed past the greenery to a pristine beach, floated on waves of his pain in the sea.

“Very picturesque.” James's reply was neutral in a way that showed his cautiousness.

“He who can no longer pause to wonder and stand rapt in awe is as good as dead.”

The silence was ringing in his ears, despite whirring and buzzing of machines he was hooked up to. James stood motionless by the chair.

“I watched the explosion.” The whisper was hoarse and sudden. “Not the one over the bay, but the one that got you. The dust from stone was like chalk. Suffocating and dense, even though I’m used to all that shit. And you were there, just lying. So motionless you looked like a statue, a fallen warrior in marble, if not for streaks of fresh blood pooling around you. I have no idea how you’re not dead. Don’t waste your life away.”

He left with a soft clink of the door handle. Bane's head never moved from his observation of the sea.

  


oOo

  


Bane was recovering startlingly fast. Even if he was agitated from the information he obtained from Pamela and James, his accelerated convalescence was proof enough that he was doing well.

They relocated to a yacht on open sea, finishing his rehabilitation on deck. Bane requested they stay in the Azores for the remainder of his convalescence, and they debated, as a group, whether that really was the best idea.

The ship was small, and crew even smaller. Himself with Trogg and James, Dr Isley, Solomon Gundy - Poison Ivy's assistant, and two sailors from Talia's Bermudas mansion - Bald Stephen and Lanky David. Everyone had their turn in a discussion, to Bane's amazement. He didn't try to impose his view, choosing instead calm reasoning. The spot was perfect, isolated and set in between Americas, Europe and Africa. The perfect crossroads to decide where to go next.

Few days and they were docking in Praia da Victoria, letting Bane walk on solid ground around Terceira and enjoy the windy weather. James was wandering along with him sometimes, but mostly he kept with the sailors, apparently smitten with inner workings and secrets of the yacht. She was gracious towards his advances, bending ropes and unveiling her secrets with benevolence of a lover.

Bane was floating, detached from the world.

Talia made sure the care he received was not a courtesy of the League of Shadows. This time, he wasn't left with a tab to settle with his servitude or his blood. It was his little girl who was settling her debt, and it left him hollow.

For once, Bane was truly and completely his own master.

He didn’t attempt to contact anyone, choosing his next step carefully, trying to strategize over every possibility. Nyssa was safe in London during the Gotham Operation, and Sensei was commanding over the skeleton crew in League Headquarters in Norway. His old stronghold, carelessly given away. If he’d like to act as an independent mercenary again, he’d have to build his empire back nearly from scratch. He was sure the command over League of Shadows would be assumed by Nyssa by now, a natural course of action when both her superiors were either dead or missing. His return now would bring only chaos, resentment and another struggle for power he didn’t want to trouble himself with.

His ambition, once the force propelling him forward, now seemed like a sea monster lurking around the island, waiting for him to set his feet back on a ship. He would be devoured, taken into a whirlwind of greed and aspiration, jumping from one objective to another in a Sisyphean task of keeping reins of power in his grasp. Ever shifting, ever feeble, ever changing.

But what did he have for himself instead, if not continuing his life’s work?

  


oOo

 

The tea was lukewarm. Bane contemplated adding some hot water to it when James knocked at his cabin door.

“Enter,” he said mildly, pouring in hot liquid from the thermos.

His officer sat down on narrow bench, elbows on knees, palms fiddling with straps of his slacks.

“I'm getting out of the League,” he said.

Bane hummed in response.

“I think you knew already. Still, I didn't want to just go without a word.“

The uncharacteristic talkativeness was wondering to Bane. He expected a farewell. Maybe a few words. This looked like a longer conversation with more than just adieu on the agenda. James looked uneasy.

“Listen, I know it's not my place to lecture you. I'm far from it. But I feel like you could use some help with deciding where you are now.“

“I'm at the crossroads.”

“Pretty much what I wanted to say, yeah.”

“Astra inclinant, sed non obligant”***

As usual, his lapse into Latin was met with a minute surprise and a resigned shake of James’s head.

“...Most likely. Listen, before I lose my nerve. I know you probably never would like to look for a woman, but you could use now to have someone like Helena. Like back in the monastery. I remember back then you were the most comfortable I ever saw you, before or after. I know it's not my place, and I know she probably has moved on with her life, but it was good. Having someone around to just be yourself with. Without demands. Sure, she had her pretty fucked up episodes, but I blame that on the circumstances.“

“Me too,” Bane smiled. “You're settling your own loose ends?”

“I intend to.”

“Your sister?”

“How did you…? Yes, my half-sister.“

“Audentes fortuna adiuvat,“ he murmured to himself and to James he translated. “Fortune favours the bold.“

“Are you going to take your own advice?”

“Perhaps.”

“I’ll hitch a ride with Dave and Solomon. Trogg made me the papers.” He sighed and looked blandly at the ceiling. “I wonder if I can still remember how it feels to live like a normal person.”

There wasn’t much more to tell. Bane stoically sipped on his cold drink, watching his guest nod one last time, a determined set of his jaw the only hint at his resolve not being as strong as he’d like. Nevertheless, before he went, James paused at the door.

“You've already decided, haven't you?”

“Perhaps.” Bane smirked.

“Is there someplace I shouldn't be visiting then?”

“I'm not sure. That depends on what Helena decides.”

Again, he smiled at James's gaping.

“Good for you Tony, good for you.“

Just when Bane thought the door would shut after James, the man turned around.

“You know, back in Armenia I was also one of Talia’s informants. It wasn’t only Birdman. I don’t know how many others reported to her, but I want you to know I never told her anything I thought could harm you. She always wanted the best for you.”

“I know.”

 

oOo

 

Coping with pain was something Bane grew to expect. It was an afterthought in his life; passing mention, but always there. Always a factor. His back was hurting, muscles were weakened with prolonged rest, joints scraped with every movement. Newly restored skin was uncomfortably taut over his chest, forearms and stomach.

Still, it all worked, every limb and cell still strived to propel him forward, wherever he set his eyes to. Medication dulled the worst of it, took off the edge, so he endured, pushing forward like he always did, focusing on the pleasant details.

For a week he marvelled over every bit and scrap of the food he got, eventually commandeering the tiny kitchen from limp possession by Steven. He didn’t seem to mind,  while Bane got drunk on all smells and tastes that for so long were out of his reach. Leopard printed eels turned out to be best braised, instead of deep fried as the locals preferred. The cheeses were incredible, tangy and salty, and Bane was an expert at collecting cracas - small rock-like barnacles with the sweetest taste and undeniably marine aroma.

They travelled through the archipelago, tasting every morsel the islands had to offer.

One sunny day, Bane herded everyone out of the yacht to the island. They rode in  a cramped jeep, then hiked up sloping hills and joked all the time, like they didn’t have a worry in the world, strong wind carrying their laugh towards the ocean. Even Trogg was lured out of his tech den, enticed by Dr Isley, carrying obediently her basket of picnic necessities. Solomon hauled a bag of drinks with a smirk, while Bane and Trogg took care of blankets and chairs.

He led them to a secluded spot by the lake, the only distinguishable trait a small marker planted into the ground close to the water. All their things were set swiftly down under the canopy, facing the beautiful picture of shimmering greenish water. Glass clinked as Solomon lined them up to be filled with water and wine, the sound mingling with chipper of birds and swoosh of cold breeze.

“What's that smoke?” Trogg asked, jerking his head towards white cloud hanging over the trees.

“It’s steam,” Pamela noted.

“Oh, from the hot springs?”

“Exactly,” Bane chimed in. “And from our dinner.”

He strolled towards the marked spot, put on gloves hanging from his pocket and brushed off the dirt from a wooden lid, then he brought some metal rods and gestured to Steven to help him. Together they unearthed two steel pots wrapped in a cloth.

“What is that?”

“Local specialty. Cozido. I made a vegetarian version, as well as the canonical one.”

Dr Isley smiled at him over the rim of her glass. She was elegantly resting in one of the chairs, soft blanket draped over her legs with effortless artistry. Her fiery hair cut a striking line down the pale skin of her neck, contrasting with surrounding greenery like the most exotic of flowers.

Bane placed both pots by the table and set on to carefully ladle out portions of food. When everyone had their plates, he slouched in his seat.

No one started eating yet.

“It will get cold. Tuck in.”

Biting into a piece of sausage he held his head low. It was so natural to just live day by day. He could see himself getting used to just thinking over his meals and reading books, his pastimes never veering too much into the danger of his old life.

Old life.

What was the new one?

“You probably wonder why the day trip,” Bane found himself saying. “I wanted us all to share one last meal before I go.”

There. The decision had been made for weeks now; he only needed to act on it. His ribs expanded in a deep breath, sending a sharp reminder of pain to steady his composure.

“What is your direction?” Trogg inquired.

“Classified.”

The man snorted a short laugh.

“Good for you.”

Odd thing, his men kept repeating that phrase.

“I also wanted to express my thanks for the care I received during my convalescence.”

Solomon nodded with a tight smile.

Dr Isley however measured him coldly.

“So you will run away instead of mending what Miranda wanted to achieve?”

How easy it was now to just smile and say, “I have nothing more I can give her. Talia is dead. Let me live my life the way I want to.”

 

oOo

 

**Author's Note:**

> *“To the living we owe respect, but to the dead we owe only the truth.” (Voltaire)
> 
> **”He who can no longer pause to wonder and stand rapt in awe is as good as dead; his eyes are closed.” (Albert Einstein)
> 
> ***”The stars incline us, they do not bind us” which is a pretty risque thing for Bane to say; but he’s a good pal who does not judge too quick. Also, this part of the story is a little homage to “Taboo”, so it’s here for a reason. ;)
> 
> The fish skin treatment is actually real, believe it or not!


End file.
